


Pocket Rocket

by cherry3point14



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boners exist, Dean Winchester has a boner, F/M, He's smuggling sausage, You might say, and Dean has one, boner, boner jokes, dean has one, did you hear?, his one eyed trouser snake is pleased to see you, or you might also say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 05:12:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17502236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry3point14/pseuds/cherry3point14
Summary: So, you’re on a case with the boys and you and Dean have to hide in a tight space. Being in close quarters isn’t the only thing that’s hard...(Prompted by my girl @divadinag on Tumblr)





	Pocket Rocket

**Author's Note:**

> Basically one **_long_** boner joke.

Up until then, you’d made every effort to be quiet, cursing every creaky floorboard and squeaky door frame.

Now you’ve got your back to the wall, head peeking around the corner while you load silver bullets into your gun. Because you’d all been under the impression that you were hunting a vampire. You’d had a machete in one hand and a syringe of dead man’s blood in the other. Then you’d seen the wrist spike on the shadow creeping towards the kitchen. The syringe is forgotten across the floor in a heartbeat.

This kitchen is where Sam is so you scream, “Sam! RUN!” as you jump out of your hiding place and fire a few shots off. The fucker is fast and dodges the first few although, you get your wish when it starts coming for you. The kitchen door opens, because why would Sam actually listen to you, when a hand wraps around your throat. There may be an unnaturally strong monster wringing your neck but your hands still work. Your fingers are still seizing your gun like a lifeline. You squeeze the trigger and land a silver bullet in its leg. Not enough to kill it but at least it drops you. You slump back to solid ground with a thud of boots on wood.

You choke out a second warning. “Wraith, not a vamp! Go!” He gets it this time and takes his opportunity to run. The kitchen leads around to the stairs and you hear Sam taking them two at a time. Good. He’s upstairs and all you need to do is keep the thing down here until you can kill it. It’s slower but it’s still moving. At least you can give Sam a little time, and Dean wherever he is, while you stumble through rooms.

“Come on little hunter.” The wraith coos from a dark corner though you can’t tell which one, “I can make you feel so good before I kill you. The best you’ve ever felt”

Even with adrenalin coating your tongue your reaction is annoyed. “Eugh” you call out from the dining room you’re now standing in, “are you always such a creep?”

There’s a fine line at this point. Only making the noise you want to make. Slinking your way through echoing rooms so your voice never lingers in one spot too long. That is until you start walking past the bottom of the stairs.

Down the corridor, to the front of the house, there’s a closet. The door is open a crack. And you’re sure it always was open. Just slightly ajar? That’s why you don’t pay any attention to it as you skulk past.

Too little, too late there’s a heavy hand over your mouth. You’re picked up enough that your feet don’t scrape on the floorboards as you get dragged into the tight space.

Tight is a very apt description. The cupboard is heaving with storage boxes and odds and ends that have never been thrown away. There’s only enough space for one person to stand in here without making any noise. Except you and Dean are both squeezed in together trying not to move anything. Touching the booby-trapped walls around you is what gives up your location before you’re ready.

“Dean?” you hiss. He clicks the door all the way closed so you can at least lean against it but you’re still pressed against each other.

“Sorry sweetheart, did you want to get back out there and flirt some more?” It’s hard to tell if he’s joking or jealous or both because it’s hidden under the concern in his voice. In fact, he sounds so concerned you feel the need to reassure him without being asked.

“Sam got upstairs which is why I was keeping it down here. He’s got silver on him right?”

“Yeah, he’ll be-” a thick finger is pressed against your lips even though he’d been the one talking.

Outside of the tiny closet you’re both cramped in there’s a sound. Footsteps. Every other step dulled and hefty because you shot him in the leg. Dean pushes himself against you as he angles his head to hear. His hands settle on your waist, thumbs ghosting the edge of your jeans as he tries to maneuver your body. He only wants to move you enough to better hear outside.

He’s concentrating on listening for the wraith because he’s professional. Unlike you who is unable to hear anything over the increasing urgency of your pulse. Sandwiched between his unyielding body and the equally unyielding door. You can’t let out the breath you’re holding in because it’ll be too loud, but your heart pounding against your ribcage must be thunderous?

It feels like a lifetime that you stand there frozen in time although it’s seconds. At worst a minute before the footsteps get softer and more distant. Dean takes his hands back but there’s not far to go, his body is still pinning yours in place.

Distraction, that’s what you should do, “when did you figure out it was a wraith?”

He whispers back without looking at you, like staring at the door long enough will make it see through. “Didn’t. Heard you hollering about it and then thought you went upstairs”

“Right, but that was Sam.”

“Sure.” He’s still concentrating on the grain of the wood.

“But you thought it was me?”

Although you’re both whispering he still risks an annoyed sigh, “yeah I just said that.”

“Let me get this straight. You thought I was Sam and you were going to drag him into this tiny ass closet that _we_ barely fit in?”

Dean rolls his body, frustrated at you, “God, would you shut up?”

You don’t shut up because he asks you but you have to. That roll of his body knocks you for six. You have to bite your lip to stop something, anything, probably a moan, coming out of your mouth. There’s too much movement. Too many different parts of him pressing against you. The friction is teasing and cruel, and a promise of what could be. You know he’s only trying to figure out some more room for himself, the problem is there’s none to be found. There’s only more of you for him to torment.

And then you feel it. A hard bulge pressing into your thigh that definitely hadn’t been there before. Had you caused that? No. Surely not. Not in the middle of a hunt with a wraith limping around trying to kill you. Dean wouldn’t let himself get distracted. Besides the fact is you are an annoyance to him, not someone he _wants_.

“Dean?”

He stiffens, no longer fumbling, “yeah?” He drags it out, begging you not to say anything.

But of course, you do say something. Dean’s full salute takes the edge off of your rising blood pressure. And as a firm believer in equality, why should you be the only one embarrassed?

“Is that, I mean… is that a gun in your pocket?”

“Don’t you dare say it.” He threatens lowly although he’s not really in a position to make threats.

You snort, willing yourself to finish your joke, “or are you just pleased to see me?”

“Fucking really? I hate you.” If you were to go on his voice alone you might believe him. Then again his dick is hard and leaving a lasting impression on your thigh. So, luckily, his words are not all you have to gauge the situation.

You cross the line into teasing, wiggling as much as your confines will allow, “that’s not true is it?”

He grunts, “stop it. ‘S your fault with all your squirming. Last time I try to save you.”

And you should stop. There’s wraith that needs to be killed. There’s no time to explore whatever this is.

“Don’t be like that, here I was thinking you were squirming to tease _me_.” In the darkness of the closet, his face is still all outlines and shadows even once your eyes had adjusted. But you can see the cogs turning inside his head. You can see him working out what you’re implying.

You’re just as desperate as he is. And in the dark, it’s safe to admit.

“Really, sweetheart?” He dips his head, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “if there was a little more room in here I’d check for myself.” You hadn’t noticed his hand at your waist again. You notice it now as he glides his thumb alone the hem of your jeans. Settling his digit over the button. He flicks at it, doesn’t open it, just flicks at it letting you know he _could_ open it. If he wanted.

“Dean.” You’ve no idea if it’s a warning or permission but you suspect the latter. You push yourself back, somehow closer to the door.

Just in time for it to be yanked open.

Dean might have been touching you but he wasn’t holding you. The door had been. And with that gone, there’s nothing for you to do but fall like every clumsy romantic comedy heroine.

Unlike a scripted cool girl you let out an annoyed, “shit,” when your ass hits the floor.

Sam reaches down to help you, “there you are I was looking for you and- oh god dude. Seriously? You can’t keep it in your pants for two seconds?”

Dean looks incredibly proud of himself. He's grinning lecherously with an arm leaned against the door frame. “It’s still in my pants isn’t it?” He motions grandly to his not so concealed boner and has the audacity to wink at you.

Sam's eyes roll all the way back to the last time he saved his brothers' life. He’s reconsidering if it was the right thing to do.

“I killed the wraith, by the way, you’re welcome. Let’s get out of here. If you can walk.”

Dean can walk thanks to his bowed legs and sheer force of will. He lets Sam get two steps ahead when he leans down to you again, “don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.”

It’s relatively brighter outside compared to your tiny hiding place. There are street lamps and moonlight to illuminate _things_ of significance _._

“Oh, I can see that you haven’t.”


End file.
